“I’ll never compare ye to anyone,” Leith replied. “Yer a breath of fresh air, lass.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. He then devoured her mouth with a kiss of deep possession. There was no hesitancy when he took her mouth as he needed her to feel his seriousness. He swept his tongue inside her warm mouth, tasting her sweetness and swallowing her tiny moans with relish.
Her fingers were in his hair and her breasts were pressed on his chest. As he held her there, he could feel her nipples begin to pebble through the thin cloth of her dress. The temptation to have her was deep, to drop his hands and rub those buds into tight peaks was clawing at his gut but he was not going to heed to the lure. He had to have her learn her own body before he introduced her to his.
“Ye are mine to take care of, lass,” Leith said. “I promise ye that I will follow through. Let me take ye back to yer station and I’ll come for ye as soon as I can.”
He held in his grin when she could not answer him for breathlessness. She nodded while catching her breath. With his hands on the small of her back, he took her back down the rookery’s stairs and into the cold outside. She needed to lose that flush on her cheeks and the kiss-red hue of lips or their secret would be open. Taking her to the garden he sat her on a bench.
“Take deep breaths, lass,” he advised. “Many might ignore ye but a few would see that flush on yer skin and ken why.”
She pressed her hand to her cheek and softly exclaimed, “Oh dear.”
“Shhh,” he cautioned, “we dinnae want anyone to hear ye.”
The night was chilled but not as cold as it could be in the spring. The sky was clear with nary a cloud obscuring the bright stars or the moon. Night critters were humming a small sonata around them and hoots of the owls were giving it an accompanying harmony.
Mary kept feeling her face and he saw her tapping her lips once or twice. She then sighed and stood with him mirroring her. “Ready?”
It was dim but he saw her nod and pleased he led her back to the kitchen. As they came to the entrance, Rinalda came out, looking worried. When she saw him with Mary her expression changed to relief.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, “I was told Mister Balloch took ye out but I dinnae ken if he would take ye back.”
Leith looked amused, “Ye ken so little of me, Rinalda?”
“When it comes to Mary, I think little of anyone,” she said matter-of-factly while looking over to her. “It’s all right Mary, ye dinnae have to go back in, yer shift is done for the night.”
Leith wanted to reach out and take her back into his arms but knew he could not. He had to let her go. At least something had been cleared up between them that night. He now knew her fears and what pace he needed to take with her. Rushing her into anything like he had done before would only hurt her but what worried him was if was able to dial back his passion for her.
Dipping his head, he bowed to them but saw Mary pass a look between him and Rinalda. But before he could address it, Rinalda whisked Mary away. He groaned under his breath. Why could he not get a break after solving one problem before another popped up?
He went back to the great hall with some grimness lingering along his spirit when a loud voice he had not heard in months boomed through the air. “Hellfire and damnation, where is the bluidy Balloch?”
Nearly doubling over with laughter, Leith walked in to see the giant mountain-of-a-man called Balfour McColloch, the older brother of Dugald Balfour, who had his broad back turned to him. The man had the finely burly body of a Norse god, the strength of a Viking, the crassness of a fisherman and yet the kindness of a saint. The last time he had heard from Balfour, it had been by a letter telling Leith about his newest conquest on an island in the North Sea.
“Still nay regard for titles eh!” he called, “Calm ye before ye send me people into apoplexies, McColloch.”
Spinning, Balfour’s broad face split in half with his grin. His plaited beard and eye-patch had earned him the nickname Odin many years ago and he carried the look well. With his broad chest covered in bear fur and the massive double-handed sword strapped to his back, the man was a picture of past warriors.
Hauling Leith into a one-armed hug Balfour grinned, “Does yer ale still taste like a piss-pot?”
“It probably does but ye still drink half a barrel when ye show up,” Leith snorted. “Come to me office, McColloch, this room is not big enough to hold yer personality.”
“And yer tiny room is?” Balfour snorted while he pushed Leith forward. Leith could feel that there was something else heralding the sudden appearance of his friend. They got to his father’s old room and he held in his grin when Balfour kissed the blade of his father’s sword.
“Yer still nae going to receive his strength,” Leith teased. “I dinnae why ye believe that tripe anyway.”
“It’ll work one day,” the man said as he unlatched his sword from his back and tried to settle his body into the biggest seat in the room. His deep blue eyes then made four with Leith. Stroking his plaited beard, Balfour sighed. “I’m nae going to lie to ye, Leith. I came because I heard about yer Faither.”
Leith dipped his head and blew out a sigh of frustration before he trained his eyes on his father’s sword. “I could
